


The Mission of a Lifetime

by Moonlite_Knight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlite_Knight/pseuds/Moonlite_Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Howl snuck out of his castle that day, he was expecting a day free from the bothersome duties of a loving husband and doting father. He was not expecting to be roped into a war. He should really stop expecting things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Aroundish the sixth/seventh HP books. By the way, pretend the events in those books never occurred. For Howl, set after House of Many Ways. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or Howl's Moving Castle.

**Prologue: Mission to Precede All Missions**  
  
Howl Jenkins Pendragon, also known as no-good Howell Jenkins, the wicked Wizard Howl, the renowned Wizard Pendragon, famed Sorcerer Jenkin, or just simply Howl, was on a mission.   
  
It was a deadly mission, one that would ultimately change his entire manner of living if he failed. A mission that he had a negative percent chance of surviving should he be caught. A mission so vital, so live-altering that he dared not mention it to anyone, not even his two trusted sidekicks. Especially not his sidekicks, those little sneaks. It was a sad, sad day when a wizard couldn’t even trust his demon and apprentice. Such a sad day indeed. And he would lament further on just how grievous such a day was once he successfully escaped from the enemy camp.   
  
He slipped through the dark hallway, pausing at the corner to make sure that the enemy was nowhere in the vicinity before darting down the stairs. Normally, he would make a dashing and memorable entrance, but at the moment, it was vital that he attract no attention. He had to be one of the normal folk in order to get out of this house, he told himself. He had to be plain, and boring, and simply blend into the walls, quiet and unseen…  
  
“Dad?”   
  
“Shh!” He spun around and hurriedly hushed the sloppily dressed toddler standing in the kitchen doorway. He was so close, _so close_! The last thing he needed was for his devious offspring to ruin the entire heist for him. Fortunately for him, the toddler seemed to be only barely awake for he just stood there blinking blearily at him instead of rushing to rouse the enemy.  
  
While this wasn’t surprising for six in the morning, Howl knew from experience that the blessed silence could only last for so long. Already, he could see the sleepy haze disappearing from those blue eyes as his son’s scheming mind went to work. He didn’t care what Sophie said, his son was devious; though it wasn’t truly that surprising once one considered exactly who his parents and most frequent companions were.   
  
“Where’re you going?” the child asked, rubbing his eyes to rid himself of the last traces of the quickly fading sleepiness, much to Howl’s dismay.   
  
“Just out.” He replied, waving a hand vaguely. He gave his son his most pathetic, most pleading expression. “Don’t tell your mother?”   
  
Morgan frowned and crossed his chubby arms. “You cook today.” He informed his lazy, slither-outer father. “Mum said!”   
  
“Please Morgan?” he pleaded, briefly considering falling to his knees before dismissing it. He’d ruin his clothes if he did that. “Pretty please with all the candy you can eat on top?”   
  
Morgan’s frown deepened as he considered the offer. “Hmm…” he said, tapping his chin mimicking his mother’s actions when in deep thought. “All the candy?”  
  
“Of course,” Howl hurriedly agreed. “As much candy as you can stuff into your greedy little mouth!”   
  
Morgan smiled and Howl’s hopes rose. Maybe he would be able to get out undetected yet.  
  
“No.”  
  
And his hopes came crashing down to the earth brutally. Howl only had a second’s warning before his son opened his mouth and took a deep breath. He dove for the boy, grabbing him around the waist and slapping a hand over the traitorous mouth before a single syllable could be uttered. The boy struggled, but Howl held fast.   
  
“Don’t!” Howl hissed, tightening his hold on the wiggling boy. Damn, the boy was slippery; more than once, he had nearly managed to slide out of his hold. “I’ll give you…cake! And cookies! And...”  
  
He scowled, trying to remember what other trivial and fattening things children were fond of. Fortunately, his offerings seemed to appeal to Morgan as the boy had ceased his struggling. He looked up at his father through long, thick eyelashes.   
  
“Anth thoyth?” he asked, his voice muffled by the hand clamped over his mouth. Howl cautiously removed the hand and the boy repeated himself. “And toys?”  
  
Howl mentally leapt with joy. The boy was caught; hook, line, and sinker. “And toys.” He promised. “I’ll bring you the best toys I find.”   
      
“Magic toys!” Morgan insisted with a childish glare.   
  
“Magic toys.” He repeated, releasing the boy and placing a hand over his own beating heart. “Wizard scout’s honor.”   
  
In truth, Howl was not a wizard scout as such an organization did not exist, but Morgan didn’t need to know that. The boy nodded, pleased that he’d gotten the better end of the deal. Howl was abruptly struck by how adorable his son looked when he wasn’t screaming or crying or a cat.   
  
“Good.” The toddler looked up at the ceiling. “Mum’s waking.”   
  
Fatherly feelings pushed aside, Howl turned his attention back to his self imposed mission. He had no reason to doubt Morgan; the boy had an uncanny ability to tell whenever his mother was close by. It was an ability that Howl often found himself envying. Plus, he could hear Sophie’s faint footsteps, walking down the hallway, headed downstairs. He had to hurry.   
  
Taking care to walk as quickly and quietly as possible, Howl headed for the front door. He paused at the closet only for a second to grab a long coat and hat which he planned to don if in the slight chance that the weather at his destination was colder than he had anticipated. He turned the knob to the specific place that he needed to arrive at; he had set the destination in advance the previous night having foreseen the need for speed.   
  
The wizard opened the door and took a deep breath of fresh air. Ah, freedom. It would only be for a day, but still, he welcomed it wholeheartedly. He put on the black hat and turned back to his son who was watching him curiously. He smiled and threw him a salute.   
  
“Until we met again, little cat.” He said, fully intending to be back by dinnertime.   
  
Then he stepped outside and shut the door unaware of just how long it would be before he returned home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: Mission Disrupted **  
  
Howl was feeling rather proud with himself.   
  
He had accomplished his mission without any (major) complications. He had had the foresight to grab a coat, which he had now donned as it was rather chilly. And, best of all, he had roughly twelve hours of utter freedom which he could spend however he wished.   
  
And the first thing he wished to do was acquire some breakfast.   
  
He had decided against eating before leaving for it would waste too much valuable time, not to mention that Sophie had insisted the night before that he would be doing the cooking today. And cooking on what was meant to be his Day of Freedom would really defeat the purpose having such day in the first place. Surely Sophie would understand that. And even if she didn’t, well, twelve hours would perhaps cool a _little_ of her temper. Hopefully.   
  
Howl stepped out of the way of a couple of old women and tipped his hat to them, not bothering to take offense at the suspicious looks the act earned him. No one knew him in London and that was just one of the many reasons why he had chosen that particular city to spend the day in.   
  
As much as he loved Wales, he did not love being hounded by Megan, nor was he too fond of the gossip that was sure to pop up if he was seen in town without his wife and child. London was far enough away for him to be free of that, while not distant enough for the culture to be entirely alien. There was also the fact that he had always wanted to visit the city to see if—  
  
 _“Oomph!”_  
  
“Watch where you’re going!” An annoyed looking, suit-clad man snarled at him, jerking his suitcase away.   
  
Howl ruefully rubbed his stomach which had born the blunt of the collision. Suitcase corners were unexpectedly sharp. The collision had not been his fault though, the man had been far too busy chatting on one of those fancy new hand phones Neil was always begging for to notice where he had been going. The man seemed ready to start an argument but Howl really did not wish to start his Day of Liberty in such a manner.   
  
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, tipping his hat and deftly stepping out of the way. “It was entirely my fault. I wish you well on your future endeavors.”  
  
The businessman’s eyes narrowed. “You a foreigner or something?” he snapped before stomping away.   
  
Howl smiled smugly before continuing on his way as well. And thus, another crisis diverted by the wonderful Pendragon, and there had been no need for him to be brave at all. As Neil always said, if you can’t beat ‘em, then freak ‘em out. Or run away, it that failed.   
  
Feeling more pleased with himself then was probably necessary, he continued down the sidewalk intending to enjoy his Day of Independence. He had no wish to end up like that poor man, who clearly had not had a Day of Freedom for a long while. No, Days of Emancipation were quite important, as was breakfast, something his growling, and bruised, stomach was staunchly reminding him.   
  
As he waited for the crossing light to signal it was safe to step onto the concrete and tar road, Howl surveyed his surroundings. He had arrived at this part of London through the creaky doors of an ancient, out-of-business clothing shop. Due to the early hour of his arrival, there had very few around to ponder exactly what a fancy dressed man had been doing in a supposedly abandoned building, which suited him just fine.   
  
Another reason he had chosen this area was because of its huge variety of shops and restaurants which lined the streets. He’d also heard that were a few rather good pubs around, but he would be the judge of that. The red light switched over to the universal signal for walk, and Howl obediently crossed the street, all the while searching for a good place to eat.   
      
To his immense disappointment, the main source of nourishment in this area seemed to derive primarily from fast food restaurants. Greasy, fattening, salty fast food. Howl shuddered. He wasn’t even going to consider entering such a place. He would rather _starve_ to death, though he really did hope it wouldn’t come to that. He could not understand what made people think fast food was, well, _food_.   
  
Unfortunately, ruling out fast food chains eliminated nearly all of his perspective choices for a morning meal. He gave a relatively crowded hamburger restaurant a distrustful look as he walked by. How…unappetizing. His stomach gave another growl which was barely heard through the hubbub that had grown over past half hour. London was waking up, and it wasn’t doing it quietly.   
  
There were a noticeably larger number of people on the streets now. Either that or the streets had shrunk considerably. Howl winced as a flustered mother drove a baby stroller over his foot and continued on without even offering an apology. Really, he could understand how little children needed constant attention and all that, but there was no need to ignore such a fine specimen as himself, much less crush his foot. He needed that foot to get home with. Sophie would probably not be too happy to have a one-footed husband. “Half-Halter Howl”, they would call him.   
  
He limped, rather heroically if he may add, to the bookstore at his right, where he was temporarily safe from the dangers of any more potential amputations. Sadly, the public was far too busy with their own affairs to notice his gallant pains. Howl found some consolation in the fact that they were also too busy to try to rid him of his other foot as well.   
  
The wizard leaned against the glass of the bookstore, intent on taking a little break before resuming his search for provisions. As he rubbed his pained stomach soothingly, his gaze fell on the shop next door.   
  
At first, he thought that he had noticed it because of just how completely out of place the shop, no pub he realized as he got a closer look, looked next to the modern architecture of the bookstore and the other buildings lining the street. It was tiny, and rather grubby looking, not the ideal place for one to eat a meal. His eyes fell on the rather decayed sign, proclaiming the place as the Leaky Cauldron. Odd name for a pub. Even odder when one considered the fact that cauldrons had not been used in this world since Medieval Times.   
  
And the longer he stared at the place, more oddities arose. No one appeared to be giving the pub a second glance. Actually, they all failed to even give it a first glance. Their eyes slid from the record store on the other side of the pub, right onto the bookstore, not even noticing the tiny pub in between. It was as though, in their eyes, that pub did not exist. That pub which, he realized abruptly, reeked of magic.  
  
Howl raised an eyebrow, studying the Leaky Cauldron. So, the rumors were true. A magical pub right in the middle of a nonmagical town that was composed largely of nonmagical citizens. An amused smile played on the corner of his lips. The third and main reason behind his trip to London had just been fulfilled.   
  
Word of a magical community hidden away had reached his ears many years ago, but he had not had the opportunity, or excuse, to find just how much truth lay behind the talk. But now, on his wonderful Day of Free Will, he had all the free time in the world. Okay, more like eleven hours of free time, but that was still long enough to explore to his heart’s content.   
  
Straightening up, he deftly slipped through the wooden doors of the pub. He half expected to hear shouts of astonishment about a man disappearing into thin air, and was faintly let down when it did  not occur. Oh well, he could always astound these little British magicians with his superb magic.    
  
A frown appeared on his face as he discovered that the Leaky Cauldron was rather similar to its namesake. Small, dark, and shabby. Howl had half a mind to immediately turn around, but a whiff of something spectacular laid rest to his misgivings. He would get something to eat, observe a little, and then get out, he decided.   
  
“May I help you?” said the bartender, interrupting Howl’s thoughts.   
  
He turned his attention onto the man who was watching him with rather suspicious eyes, a glass mug gripped tightly in one hand. Howl plastered his warmest, friendliest smile on his face (the one Sophie claimed made him look like a child begging for desert before dinner) before answering.   
  
“Good day, kind sir,” Howl said, noting with a bit of smugness that the smile seemed to have done its job. The bartender no longer looked ready to run in the opposite direction at the slightest hint of danger. Take that Sophie. Though he did wonder why the man would choose a profession as a bartender when he was so shy. “I presume from that heavenly smell, that you sell food here yes?”   
  
The man looked slightly embarrassed, but was noticeably pleased by the flattery. “Oh, it’s nothing fancy,” he insisted. “Just a bit of broth and biscuits we’re making.”  
  
“Either way, I would love to have some.” Howl said, taking off his hat, and taking a seat.   
  
“Coming right up then.” The man waved a stick, a wand Howl amended mentally, and a piece of paper made its journey to the back room, the eyes of an infamous wizard locked upon it. So the people here needed wands to harness their magic, hmm?   
  
Twirling his hat absently in one hand, Howl subtly took note of the other occupants of the pub. It was fairly empty, disappointingly. Just a tiny, veiled woman in one corner, and a pair of men in robes, arguing about something called ‘kuiditch’, if he was hearing correctly. Heavens know what ‘kuiditch’ was, it sounded like an ailment to him. All in all, Howl was rather let down with the lack of magic users in the vicinity. He had been hoping for more subjects to observe and compare to his noble self.   
  
“Here you go.” A bowl of thick brown soup dropped in front of him, soon followed by a plate piled with biscuits. Howl’s mouth immediately began to water at the sight. It was about time he got something to eat, any longer and he would have fainted. Or perhaps not, he thought, recalling the rather filthy floors of the pub.   
  
“Thank you, my good man!” Howl said, digging into the food enthusiastically. The bartender smiled and returned to his task of cleaning the glass mugs.   
  
He ate until his hunger was satiated to a tolerable level before leaning back and letting out a deep breath. Time to make small talk and see what he could learn. Howl was justifiably curious about the magic of his home world having been born and bred there without ever being aware of its existence. He had to know just how he had managed to overlook it, and how they had overlooked him.   
  
“That was the second best broth that I have ever tasted.” He complimented the bartender.   
  
“Who made the first?” the man asked curiously.   
  
“My wife.” Howl smiled. Though he did not admit it often out loud, Sophie was a darn good cook. Anyone who could force Calcifer to cook bacon without burning it to a crisp had to be a culinary genius, in his book.   
  
The man laughed. “Yes, my meals are nothing compared to home cooked ones.”  
  
Howl was rather pleased that the shyness that the bartender had displayed earlier had vanished. It was much easier to get information out of someone when they weren’t waiting for an excuse to bolt from the room.    
  
“Oh, nearly forgot. Three galleons for the meal.”   
  
Starting with why on earth the man wanted him to pay him in galleons. What happened to the British pounds he had taken great lengths to acquire?   
  
“I beg your pardon?” Howl asked, hoping the man would elaborate.   
  
Unfortunately, the man mistook his hesitation as something else. “I know, it’s a bit high,” he said, sighing and putting down the final sparkling mug. “But in the times that we live now, things have been a bit rough on business.”   
  
Howl nodded absently while mentally trying to conjure up a plan. Damn, he had never considered that these people might have their own currency as well. Just how isolated were they from the nonmagical community, the professional side of him wondered.   
  
“I don’t suppose you might take pounds instead, would you?” Howl asked, pasting a sheepish look on his face. “I just arrived in town, you see, and I…”  
  
He trailed off, hoping the man would fill in the blanks of information on his own. Thankfully, he did.   
  
“And you haven’t had a chance to get to Gringotts yet.” The bartender said, nodding his head. “Alright, just leave your word that you’ll pay the bill once you exchange your money.”   
  
Howl let his shoulders relax slightly at his lucky break. And here he had been worrying that he would have to wash dishes, thus ruining his clothes, when all he needed was to write an IOU. He took the yellowed paper and quill the man offered him and scribbled out a promise to pay the bill as soon as possible. He finished signing his name (Howell Pendragon) with a flourish before handing the paper back. The former heartless magician watched avidly as the man tapped the paper once with his wand, causing it to glow a deep blue for a moment. Interesting, but he could do that. Maybe. Well, if he knew what the man had done, then he could replicate it.   
  
“There.” The bartender said, putting away the long stick. “I should warn you though, you have only seven days to settle the bill before the curse activates.”   
  
“Not to worry,” Howl said, getting up and replacing his hat on its rightful position atop his head. “You can be sure that the bill shall be settled before the week is out. Now if you could just point me the way to ‘Gringotts’, I’ll be on my way.”    
  
The bartender looked startled, and, Howl noted with surprise, the suspicious look reemerged in his eyes. “You don’t know where the _only wizarding bank_ in all of London is?”   
  
Howl shrugged carelessly. “I am from Wales. I just arrived in London today, so I haven’t the slightest inkling.”   
  
The alert look lightened slightly, but it did not fade completely. “And I suppose you don’t have a wand either, do you?” the man said sarcastically.   
  
Howl thought quickly. “I have what remained after my son got a hold of it.” He replied, reaching into his pocket and hastily transforming a pen to look like a near duplicate of the bartender’s wand. He pulled it out for the wary man to see. “I shall need to have it fixed.”  
  
The man frowned slightly. “Better to just purchase a new one,” he advised, relaxing a bit. “Olivander’s the place you need.”    
   
Howl smiled and pretended to know what the man was talking about. One thing was for certain though, these wizards were quite different from the ones back home. He had yet to decide if that was good or bad.   
  
The bartender walked out from behind the counter. “Well, may as well show you the way in.” He said, giving Howl one more slightly distrustful look.   
  
Howl smiled pleasantly and followed him through the bar and out into a small courtyard. A walled courtyard. Why were they here?   
  
“Two…three” the bartender mumbled under his breath, apparently counting the bricks in front of him. “Don’t know why anyone’d come here now, what with all that’s going on…no, it’s two across…”  
  
The man tapped a brick that was exactly three up and two across three times with his wand. Howl watched keenly as a hole grew from the tip of the wand. Hmm, not at all like his transportation spells. Possibly a glamour instead? But it still seemed too simple to belong to such a category.   
  
Howl was beginning to suspect that this world had its very own set of laws regarding magic. Interesting. A bit inconvenient perhaps, but definitely something his professional side wanted to look into. Creating a name for himself here would be a rather, _enlightening_ , experience. Just as long as there was no danger involved of course.  
  
The hole had expanded into a great archway by then, framing the way to a rather winding street. Magic fizzled around it as Howl studied it keenly. Definitely not a glamour then.   
  
“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” the bartender said with a hint of smugness as he indicated that Howl walk through. “Just keep walking north and you’ll hit the bank, sooner or later.”   
  
As soon as the wizard stepped through the doorway though, it began to melt back into a wall, leaving him just enough time to shout his thanks before the bricks blocked his view of the bartender.   
  
“Nice chap,” Howl said, taking in the scenery of ‘Diagon Alley’. “A bit simple, but quite helpful anyhow.”   
  
Howl had to admit, he was rather impressed by the alley; it was almost as endearing as Market Chipping. Actually, ‘alley’ was not the most accurate description for the place: ‘market’ or ‘bazaar’ was a thousand times more suiting to the rows of colorful shops lining the streets and the equally colorful people loitering outside them. All of whom, Howl noted, were wearing robes of multitudes of color.   
  
Rather stuck on tradition are they not? he thought amused, eyeing a standard pointy witches hat donned by an old women. Howl himself would never willingly wear such tasteless and cumbersome outfits willingly. He prided his sense of fashion far too much to even consider them.   
  
And whatever was the point of the robes anyway, Howl wondered as he walked passed a crowded Apothecary. Admittedly they were traditional, but they were clearly not very attractive. Or useful. Howl could count on one hand just how many wizards and such back home wore robes when they were not attempting to appear intimidating or impressive.     
   
He raised an eyebrow in interest as he passed a shop selling owls, amongst the customary cats, rats, and toads. Morgan would like such a shop, perhaps he should return one day with him in tow. Which reminded him, he still needed to buy some candy and toys for the little cat. Onwards to the bank then.  
  
Howl continued down the road, inquisitively surveying everything and everyone while making sure to draw little attention to himself. As expected, the task was quite difficult, given his natural good looks and stunning presence. Being one of the few adults not wearing a robe probably helped.   
  
He stopped walking as a pure white building came into view. With its gleaming bronze doors and stained glass windows, the bank was noticeably fancier than the smaller, homely shops on either side of it. And in front of glistening doors, guarding the entrance were—  
  
“Goblins,” Howl muttered to himself. “I was not aware there were any on this land.”   
  
He stared at the goblin unashamedly as he neared him, speculating on just how the magical creature kept his existence hidden from a world that did not believe in him. While Market Chipping was not home to many of the little sprites, the folk there did not doubt their existence. Here was another story, Howl thought, remembering how Megan had constantly scoffed at fairy tales as children.   
  
The goblin returned his stare with a glare of his own. Howl smiled enchantingly at him catching the creature off guard. Howl was not surprised by the reaction; his charm did that to just about everyone he met. The wizard received a bewildered look as he stepped through the front doors. The first thing that met his gaze was a pair of silver engraved doors.   
  
“Charming,” Howl said under his breath, reading the engraving. Quite possessive, weren’t they? And rather rude. But he had nothing to fear, he would never be so imprudent as to steal from a magical bank. Only a fool would do that.  
  
He stepped through the silver doors as they were opened by another pair of goblins and the first thing he saw was a vast marble hall. And then a flash of bubble gum pink hair appeared in his line of vision, before he was acquainted with the marble floor far more closely than he wished to be.   
  
“Oh, bugger!” A feminine voice cried out, as Howl got up wincing. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t see you there!”   
  
“It’s quite alright.” Howl said, gallantly ignoring the tremendous ache in his head the fall had gifted him with. The floor was just as hard as it looked as was proven by the growing bruise on the back of his head. He held out a hand and helped up the young lady who had crashed into him.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She apologized again once on her feet. She offered him a rueful smile. “I’m just so clumsy, always tripping over my own feet.”   
  
“It’s quite alright, miss,” Howl repeated, dusting off his clothes. “No harm, no foul.”  
  
“I’m really sorry,” she continued on as though she had not heard Howl. She appeared fairly flustered and distracted, constantly glancing behind her and Howl would not have been surprised if that were the case. “I should have been watching where I was going. Sorry, sorry. Oh, your hat’s all dirty, let me get that for you.”  
  
“It’s fine—” He broke off as the pink-haired lady helpfully knocked off his hat.   
  
“Sorry!” She wailed as Howl picked up his hat off the floor. “I was just trying to help!”   
  
“Miss, it’s fine,” the wizard replied, replacing his hat on his head. He eyed the girl warily and kept a hand on it as though to protect it. “You are quite a klutz, are you not?”  
  
She nodded with an embarrassed grin. “It’s a curse.”   
  
“I can see how,” Howl said, removing his hand. The woman showed no sign of trying to help again, so he figured it was safe. “Do not worry, you were not the first to attempt to unite me with the ground, and I have no doubt that you will not be the last.”   
  
The pink-haired lady frowned and glanced behind her. Was she looking for someone? “I really am sorry, I was just in a hurry and—”  
  
“Please stop apologizing,” Howl interrupted, smiling charmingly. “You were forgiven after your first.”  
  
The lady smiled and glanced behind her again. “I—”  
  
Howl had only a second’s notice before the explosion occurred. The massive surge of magic that he sensed just seconds before the walls directly across the hall burst into flame gave him just enough time to throw up a shield around him and the pink lady. It protected them from the worst of the heat and debris, though they were blessed enough to be part of the few farthest from the blast.   
  
“Get down!” The pink-haired lady shouted, forcing him onto the ground, her wand already in her hand. She aimed it at the flames just as another blast hit. “Bloody Merlin, they actually did it! What the hell are they thinking, attacking Gringotts of all places?”  
  
Apparently, she had not noticed the shield he had put up. Storing that piece of information away for later, Howl kept low to the ground as he tried to see just who the attackers were. Since he was understandably reluctant to move any closer, it was quite hard. But he saw enough to be able to tell that the entire bank was in a panic. Through the black smoke and frenzied movement of the other occupants of the bank, goblins to the fire, humans away, he could just make out several dark figures stepping out of the flames. The thought to make a strategic retreat had just crossed his mind when the figures began firing bolts of red light. At him. Ok, time and past for him to leave.   
   
Making sure to keep the shield ready to be thrown up at a second’s notice, Howl began to edge back towards the entrance, keeping an eye out for any stray blasts. The entire bank was more or else empty by this time, aside from the attackers of course, and a few strays who seemed to be fighting back. Just what he needed, to be caught in the middle of a grand wizarding duel on his Day of Freedom. All the more reason for him to leave.   
  
Reaching the doors, he turned to do just that and caught sight of something pink from the corner of his eye. It was the young lady who had bumped into him earlier. She had not left like the rest of the sane people who did not possess a death wish. Instead, she was battling the foes, alternating between ducking and firing blasts. Foolish girl.   
  
Howl fiddled at the archway dividing potential safety and certain danger, before turning back. Damn his infernal sense of chivalry. Damn it. He couldn’t just leave a maiden to defend herself, especially not one as inelegant as this one. For one thing, Sophie would never forgive him if she found out. He probably would never be able to forgive himself either.   
  
Inching closer to the battle, he sent a beam of light flying towards him away with a flick of his hand, only to regret it as it hit the doors behind him, pulverizing them and blocking off the only exit. Well, any second thoughts now were decidedly worthless. He really hoped he wasn’t going to regret this.   
  
“Are you mental?” Pink Hair shouted, catching sight of him as she ducked a blast that whizzed by her ear. “What are you still doing here?”  
  
“I could ask the same of you,” Howl replied pleasantly, as a red blast bounced off his shield and hit the wall behind him, leaving behind a gaping hole. He made a mental note to really avoid being hit by one of those.   
  
“I’m a trained Auror,” The girl yelled back. She ducked another blast, and fired one of her own. “ _Stupefy_!”  
  
A clump of magic in the form of red light erupted from the tip of her wand and flew straight at one of the robed figured only to be deflected by a wave of a wand. All traces of clumsiness seemed to have vanished from her figure as she rolled out of the way of another beam.   
  
“You okay there, Tonks?” yelled the other stray weaving and dodging his way towards them.  
  
“Never better,” The pink-haired lady, Tonks, replied. She kicked away a piece of burning wood that had fallen a little too close. “Just a boring old trip to the bank, after all.”  
  
The man gave a sheepish smile and fired at the figures. “Okay, I was wrong. No need to rub salt in the wound.”   
  
Howl ignored the two, being more intent on getting out of the bank alive now that he knew the lady did not require his aid. Who knew that a simple trip to a bank in a hidden community could be potentially fatal? He dove behind a fallen pillar, ducking out of sight of the other occupants of the room. Once assured that he was safe, more or less for the time being, he focused on something that had struck him odd about the foes.   
  
Not once had they advanced outside the barrier created by the flames. Yes, they fired many a beam of magic out at the rebels, but they had yet to actively hunt them. And that could only mean one thing, Howl concluded. It was a recovery mission, not a destructive one. The flames and magic being flung around was just for show, the robed ones had something else in mind. He needed to get away before they carried out their true plan.   
  
“Keep back sir!” Tonks warned, catching sight of him as he peeked up to see how the battle was going. “Don’t try to help!”  
  
“No need to fear that,” Howl muttered, taking in the sight of the ruined bank.   
  
There were stray coins of glittering gold littering the floor, abandoned by their owners. The fire continued to burn bright, blocking the enemy from them, leaving no doubt in his mind that the flame was of magical origin. The goblins, the ones that had not vanished elsewhere, probably to protect the rest of the bank, were unconscious on the floor. At least, he hoped they were unconscious. Chivalry be darned, he was not getting involved in this fight.   
  
He wasn’t offered a choice.   
  
The pillar that was blocking the battle from him was blown apart before he had a chance to duck away. The force of the blast sent Howl flying into the wall behind him, narrowly missing the hole caused by an earlier curse. Instinctively, he sent out his own surge of magic, to counter it. Too late he realized that he had not drawn his imitation wand. The hastily formed wave of magic blew wind viciously at the flames, sending them right back at their conjurors. It didn’t seem to hurt them, but it did distract them enough to stop firing beams of light.   
  
Wishing fruitlessly that Calcifer were here to help, Howl picked himself up, ignoring the shooting pain in his arm and the headache that had returned with a vengeance. The man who had joined Tonks was by his side in a second, clamping a vice like grip on his arm as he shielded them both from any curses with the wand in his other. The look that Howl received informed him that his little display of magic had not been well received. Howl sighed. With the way things had been going that day, the two had most likely decided that he was one of the enemies. So much for his Day of Emancipation.  
  
“Tonks, we need to retreat,” the man said, narrowly missing being hit by a piece of falling marble. He pulled Howl behind one of few pillars that was still standing. Between the fire and the blasts of magic being sent back and forth, the once striking hall was completely unrecognizable. “Ministry will be here any second and Gringotts won’t stand much longer.”  
  
“Right,” Tonks said, with a sidelong glance at Howl. “What about—?”  
  
“Taking him with us.” The grip on his arm tightened.   
  
Howl decided to throw in his two cents. “I’d rather not—”  
  
Without warning, magic flared and jerked at his navel, pulling him to an unknown destination. Though caught off guard, Howl recognized the sensation as that of an amateur transportation spell. He would have fought it, if he hadn’t been extremely familiar with what happened when one tried to stop in the middle of a spell. Bugger.   
  
He was jerked forward and his feet touched the hard firmness of solid ground. He stumbled forward at the sudden landing, his head spinning. The grip on his arm had yet to lessen. Howl could hear a commotion around him, but he was too dazed to make much sense of it. It took him a few extra seconds to realize that the transportation spell had disagreed with him. Note to self: never travel in this manner again. Seven league boots were better than this and that was saying something.    
  
The haze cleared abruptly at another flare of magic, this one that he recognized vaguely as healing. Howl shook his head to clear away the last lingering bits of haze before looking around. He found himself staring at a roomful of wizards, all of whom had their wands trained upon him.   
  
Howl sighed and uttered the foulest word that his childproof vocabulary (which had been beaten into him by his dear wife) contained.   
  
“Fiddlesticks.”  


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2: Mission (Unwillingly) Altered

At that moment, Howl wished for nothing more than the ability to simply melt into the walls. Or the ground. He wasn’t feeling particularly picky at the moment. Being held at wandpoint by a roomful of irate wizards does have that effect on a person.  
  
Hands lifted slightly up in the air to show them he was unarmed and more or less harmless, Howl gazed silently at the robed mob as they glared back menacingly. Being in a roomful of angry magic users was a decidedly new experience for him as he usually did his best to _avoid_ being in such a situation. He knew how to deal with a roomful of angry women, really, how could he not? He had even mastered the ability to deal with malicious mothers, annoying aunts, and, probably the worst of the lot, wicked, purse-wielding grandmas. But a whole group of wizards all at once? Never.  
  
And ironically, he had gotten into such a state by attempting to do a noble and semi-heroic deed. Hmph, well, at least now he had another excuse for Sophie if she ever got it into her head to cure him of his cowardice; wizards simply didn’t appreciate being saved by someone as noble and handsome as he apparently. Actually, their jealously was rather heartwarming, now that he thought about it.  
  
It was that feeling combined with the discomfort of being given about a dozen evil eyes at once that prompted him to make the first move.  
  
“Who are you and what was your role in the attack?” snarled the most scarred and fashion-impaired of the lot.  
  
Or not. Howl frowned. These people were _rude_. Not only had they unfairly kidnapped him, but they were now interrogating him! And they even had the gall to interrupt him before he even had a chance to speak. How perfectly uncouth. If there weren’t nearly a dozen wands being pointed right at him at that very second, then he would have told them so. No, really, he would have.  
  
“Well, aren’t you going to answer?” The same rude man asked, just as curtly as before. His mismatched eyes, both of them, were trained on Howl, though the grotesquely large blue one did have a tendency to spin wildly before refocusing on the magician. This gave him the appearance of being somewhat demented. The stringy hair and wooden leg helped a bit as well.  
  
Howl briefly considered bowing, before dismissing it as unnecessary. If these folk were going to be rude, then he really didn’t see the need to carry out any social necessities himself. Plus, they were probably paranoid enough to think he was reaching for a weapon.  
  
“I am Howell,” he said instead, attempting to appear harmless. Though he tried his hardest, it didn’t seem to be working judging by the thick tension in the room. “I was merely at the bank to acquire some money, just like everyone else there.”  
  
The scarred man, the leader perhaps, scoffed. “Likely story. Now tell the truth.”  
  
“I have,” Howl replied, a tad miffed at being deemed a liar so easily. And he hadn’t even been lying for once. The nerve of the paranoid old man. “I simply wanted to convert my money. That’s it. No evil intentions whatsoever.”    
  
Scarface didn’t like the answer, judging by the growl that emitted from his throat. Thankfully, another of the wizards stepped in before Howl got hurt.  
  
“You remained at the battle site,” the man, a tired-looking brunette, said calmly. His clothes were easily the most threadbare in the room. Howl was seriously beginning to think that all wizards in this country had some sort of inability to comprehend of the meaning of fashion. “When all others did not. And you aided the Death Eaters in their escape. You have to see why we don’t believe you.”  
  
Though the man was considerably politer than his colleague, the hard glint in his amber eyes challenged Howl to just try and deny the charges. He was just as, if not more, dangerous than Scarface. Wonderful. This was just shaping out to be a bloody perfect Day of Freedom, wasn’t it?  
  
“I did not assist them,” Howl insisted, crossing his arms. Ignoring the way everyone in the room flinched at the sudden movement, he continued, after making a mental note to not move again. He had no wish to be cursed by an overly zealous wizard. “I simply did what was required to stop me from losing a limb, or worse, my looks.”  
  
The brunette’s lip twitched a bit at that, but before he could respond, pink haired Tonks cut in. “Speaking of that, how in Merlin’s name did you do magic like that without a wand?”  
  
“He did what?” Another of Howl’s assailants asked, half surprised, half disbelieving.  
  
…Damn, he’d been hoping they’d forgotten about that. Though it probably was too much to ask for, given that that had been the reason he was in this whole mess in the first place. Think Howl, think. What would Sophie do?  
  
“What are you talking about?” he asked before suppressing a wince. Damn, damn, damn. The oldest excuse in the book. Sophie would never say that. What the heck had he been thinking?  
  
Predictably, the wizards were not impressed with his defense.  
  
“You sent an entire row of _magic_ flames right back at them,” The man who had been in the bank with Tonks said, giving Howl an immensely distrustful look. “Without even drawing your wand. Tell us how you did it if you weren’t collaborating with the Death Eaters in the first place.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Howl said, trying to look confused and worried. It was an annoyingly easy expression to put on. “I just panicked.”  
  
The tired brunette gave him a hard stare. “It’s not entirely uncommon,” he said slowly, not once looking away from Howl. “Wizards and witches have been known to exhibit extraordinary amounts power when in danger.”    
  
The man from the bank scoffed. “He wasn’t in any danger.”  
  
Howl started to protest but surprisingly Tonks beat him to it.  
  
“He was in a bank that was in the process of being overrun by Death Eaters shooting curses and fire left and right,” she said, lowering her wand slightly. “And he’d been just blasted into a wall. No danger at all?”  
  
The man scowled but didn’t say anything. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Scarface.  
  
“Don’t lower your guard, girl” he snapped at Tonks, startling her into jerking her wand back up. “There is no proof that he’s telling the truth.”  
  
“There’s no proof that I’m lying either.” Howl put in, oh so helpfully.  
  
Scarface glared in a rather unnerving manner, both eyes aimed straight at Howl. He had to focus extra hard to not fidget or show any signs of discomfort or fear. Well, any more signs than were necessarily expected from a man kidnapped by a group of wizards on a trip to the bank. Hopefully the wizards would write off the quivering of his legs as a result of being thrown into a wall, because they were _not_ shaking in fear. Really.  
  
“Listen here, boy,” Scarface growled. He continued, right over Howl’s protest that he was not a boy. “I don’t trust you. You’re lying about something and I will find out what.”  
  
Remembering what Megan always said about blinking and liars, Howl kept his eyes wide open. Bugger, this man gave paranoia a whole new definition! Granted, he had reason to be suspicious, but still. Scarface must have loads of enemies, true and fictional, with that wonderful attitude.  
  
“I’m a witness,” Tonks said suddenly. She turned to Scarface, a determined frown fixed on her face.  
  
“To—” the tired brunette started to say, taking a step towards her before halting himself. Tonks didn’t look at him.    
  
“I meet him just before the attack,” she said to Scareface. “He was right next to me, and I had my back to him during most of the fight. He could have taken me out anytime he wanted. But he didn’t.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean a thing,” Scarface growled out, fixing his relatively normal eye on the girl. The blue one was still fixed on Howl, who was watching the exchange with slight surprise. He really hadn’t the faintest clue why Tonks was suddenly speaking in his defense, though he really wasn’t about to complain anytime soon.    
  
“It means he isn’t a Death Eater,” Tonks insisted, crossing her arms and managing to knock over the chair next to her. She ignored it, as did everyone else, too caught up in the argument to spare it more than a passing thought.  
  
The permanent frown on Scarface seemed to grow deeper. “Think girl—”  
  
“I’m not letting what happened to Snuffles happen all over again!” she snapped, angrily.  
  
Well, that made absolutely no sense to Howl, but it seemed like he was the only person lost. The tired brunette flinched visibly at her words, and all of the other wizards gave various signs of discomfort as well. The most surprising reaction however, in Howl’s humble opinion, was that of Scarface. His face seemed to go slack for a moment before the frowned marred it again. If Howl hadn’t been paying acute attention to the exchange, he would have missed it.  
  
“Fine,” the scarred man, growled finally, looking none too pleased. “We won’t do anything until Albus talks to him. Blasted girl.”  
  
Tonks seemed to cheer up considerably by this. “Thanks, Mad Eye.”  
  
He glared at her. “If he kills us all in our sleep, it’s going on your permanent record.”  
  
“Of course,” she replied, her lips twitching.  
  
Howl decided it was a good enough time as any to enter the conversation.  
  
“Can I ask who this Albus is?” he inquired, rubbing his arm which had started to throb unpleasantly some time ago. “And why and when I must meet him? I really do need to return home soon.”  
  
As soon as possible. He did not want to get dragged into the circumstances that surrounded the bank fiasco anymore than he was at the moment. Actually, he wanted to be involved _less_ than he was at the moment. He wanted to walk away, and enjoy the rest of his Day of Freedom far, far, _far_ away from these kidnappers.    
  
“None of your business.” Mad Eye, though Howl liked the name Scarface better, snapped. He was the only one who still had his wand trained on him, the others having lowered it sometime during the argument.  
  
Howl frowned. That was hardly fair. “If I’m going to be held here against my will, than can I at least know why?”  
  
“No.” Mad Eye smirked at Howl’s growing annoyance. The magician’s fear had more or less dispersed when it became apparent that Tonks would not allow them to harm him. Now, irritation at being kept against his will was beginning to overpower whatever dread was left.  
  
“So, what do we do with him for now?” the man from the bank asked, mainly to stop the argument from growing any worse. He had seen enough people fight with Mad Eye to willingly let anyone, potential enemy or not, walk into it naively.  
  
“Let me return home.” Howl declared, just as Mad Eye said, “Stick him in the hippogriff’s room and see how long it takes for him to talk.”  
  
“We’re the good guys,” one of the wizards piped up, grinning. “We aren’t allowed to do that.”    
  
Mad Eye glared at the poor man who had spoken as the tired brunette entered the discussion. “No, but we _can_ put him in one of the old bedrooms on the second floor for now.”  
  
“Do I get a say in this?” Howl asked, not at all pleased with the direction the conversation was going. He was not going to allow himself to be locked in a room for who knows how long. He glanced at the sole wand still pointed at him. If that thing wasn’t stuck on him, then he’d try harder to weasel his way out of this. Unfortunately, the paranoid man did not seem to want that to happen.  
  
“Prisoners get no say,” Mad Eye informed him with a sardonic smirk.  
  
What happened to innocent until proven guilty? Howl wondered. Sure, that only applied in the States, but really, he hadn’t given them that much reason to think he was threat. Hell, he barely had any idea what was going on! It was obvious by this point that there was something bigger going on than just a bank robbery. Something much bigger. Definitely something he was going to stay out of as so as they let him go.    
  
“Not a prisoner,” the brunette interrupted, with a slight smile. It wasn’t at all pleasant. “More like, guest for an extended period of time.”  
  
Which was basically just a nicer way of saying prisoner. Howl didn’t like diplomacy when he wasn’t the one using it. No he did not.  
      
“Do you want to do this the easy way,” Moody grinned in a not so nice manner. He was looking much too pleased with everything, in Howl’s opinion. “Or the hard way.  
  
Howl sighed heavily, feeling very much like a man walking to his own execution. “Lead the easy way.”

  
*~~~~~><><><><><><~~~~~*  
  
Morgan stared longingly at the cookie on the table in front of him. It was a chocolate chip one, with extra chocolate chips. Just how he liked them. He shifted his gaze from the dessert to his mother for a second before turning to stare forlornly at it once more.  
  
It looked soo good, and it smelled soo good too. And look at all those chocolate chips! So many! All dark, and big, and so yummy-looking. He had to have it!  
  
He glanced at his mother again and saw with relief that she had her back turned to him, doing something on the stove. Finally! He slowly leaned forward on his chair and reached out a hand…almost there…just one more inch—  
  
“Freeze.”  
  
He froze.  
  
One hesitant glance up through his bangs revealed that his mother wasn’t busy with the stove anymore; she was now busy glaring at him. Nooo, why couldn’t she have waited a few more seconds? He’d almost had the cookie!  
  
“What did I say about the cookie, Morgan?” She demanded, in what his father called her 'Schoolteacher’ voice. Morgan didn’t really understand why, his mother was way scarier than his teacher could ever be.  
  
“But I want cookie!” he whined, sticking out his lower lip and looking as pitiful as he possibly could. His father had been giving him lessons. Unfortunately, Sophie was as impervious to his act as she was to Howl’s.  
  
“And you will get the cookie,” she said, crossing her arms. “When you tell me where your father went.”  
  
Morgan scowled. “But I don’t know!”  
  
“Yes you do.” His mother replied calmly, tapping a foot on the floor. “I know you helped him, Morgan, so just tell me and I’ll give you the cookie.”  
  
“I did! I don’t know!” He slumped down in his chair.  
  
 “Yes you do, and please sit up properly, child. You look like your father when he’s in one of his moods.”  
  
“Don’t.” The boy stated, slumping down even further and crossing his arms liked his mother had. He didn’t look like his father. He wasn’t anything like his father. It was his mean father’s fault in the first place that he couldn’t have his cookie. He wanted his cookie!  
  
“Alright,” Sophie said when it became apparent that Morgan wasn’t about to spill the beans. She simply turned around and resumed cooking the meal that her no good husband was supposed to be making.  
  
Morgan immediately went for the cookie again.  
  
“One more inch and you shall be eating solely vegetables for the next month.”  
  
Her son shot back so violently that she feared for a second that he may fall out of his chair. But he recovered in time to glare at her with as much power as he could.  
  
“I want my cookie,” he whined as loudly as he dared. “I want my cookie. I want my cookie. I want my cookie…”  
  
Sophie turned her focus on the task in front of her and blocked out the whining. She was going to behave as an adult, she reminded her as she dumped a pile of diced carrots into a pot. No losing her temper, no taking out the scissors and cutting up all of Howl’s good suits, and definitely no raging about her stupid, no-good, idiot husband. Someone had to be a good example for Morgan, and heaven knew Howl would never come close to earning that title.  
  
“Oh, just give him the cookie!” Calcifer piped up, poking out from under the stove where he had been amusedly playing audience to the entire show. “He’ll go on for hours if you give him the chance.”  
  
Sophie put the pot on him, forcing him back under. “No, Calcifer. Not until he tells me where Howl is.”  
  
“He really doesn’t know,” the fire demon said, more for the sake of his own sanity which was sure to suffer should Morgan be allowed to continue his chant. “I heard their entire conversation and Howl didn’t mention where he was going.”  
  
He froze as Sophie pinned him with her glare. Even through an inch of metal, steel, wood, and various foods and liquids, he could feel it. Bugger, he probably should have kept his mouth shut.  
  
“You know where he is?” she demanded, stepping back to get a better look at the demon.    
  
“Err…” He attempted to discreetly edge as far back as he could without upsetting the pot. Yes, definitely should have kept silent.      
  
“And you didn’t care to mention this five hours ago, why?” she continued, her voice deathly calm. The air around her seemed to crackle. Calcifer really hoped that he was simply being overly paranoid.  
  
“I think your food is burning. Quick, check.” Just in case, he shrank back even further.  
  
“Where is he?” She wasn’t yelling yet but somehow her deathly calm, I’m-not-insane-no-matter-how-much-evidence-there-is-stating-otherwise voice was so much worse.  
  
“Sophie, I’m serious, it’s burning!”  
  
“Calcifer.” She picked up a glass, filled it to the rim with ice cold water, and _looked_ at it.  
  
The fire demon decided Howl wasn’t worth it. “Oh, all right! He’s in London! Happy now? Just put the water down!”  
      
“Thank you.” She said serenely before turning to dump the pot of burned food into the trash. She conveniently ignored Morgan snatching the cookie and stuffing it in his mouth. After all, there really was no point in keeping the cookie from Morgan now that she had the information that she wanted.  
  
“Now, just tell me where ‘London’ is and how to get there—” She broke off when she saw that the stove was empty. That little coward of a demon.  
  
Morgan watched silently, licking the melted chocolate from his fingers, as his mother visibly attempted to calm herself down. Personally, he really hoped that he had inherited her temper. Making Calcifer edgy like that had been just plain wicked.  
  
Oblivious to her impressed offspring, Sophie took a deep breath and reminded herself of all the reasons why she was, and would have to, deal with this as an adult. Normally she would be well into a full blown out rage at this point of time, but she was determined to be adult about this. She had calmly found out where Howl was. Now she would, still calmly, go and collect him. And only then, once she was sure that Morgan was not around as a witness, would she let out all of the rage that was currently burning within her.  
  
Oh, she wouldn’t kill her husband, Morgan needed a father all. But she would be making sure that he never, ever pulled such a stupid stunt again. Ever.  
  
*~~~~~><><><><><><~~~~~*  
  
Approximately four hours after he was condemned to his jail cell slash dusty, old room that had certainly not been used for years, if not centuries, Howl got a visitor. The only positive thing he could really say about it was that it wasn’t Sophie. Though, by the end of the meeting he would find himself wishing that it was.  
  
“Good afternoon,” The old man said, coming into the room without as much as a knock.  
  
Howl sat up quickly from the bed upon which he had half dozed, half sulked away the hours and turned to face his visitor. His first impression of the man was that he was just as fashion impaired as all of the other wizards he had met. His plum colored robes with scarlet crescents actually caused Howl to wince. Then he looked passed the clothes and decided that he didn’t like the man in them. At all.  
  
It wasn’t just the clothes that caused this abhorrence, he wasn’t _that_ shallow. It was the air that surrounded the old man and his amiable smile; his very presence reminded Howl vividly of Mrs. Pentstemmon. The same look of wisdom in the eyes, the same feel of power around them, and the same way of making him feel like an ignorant child without even doing anything. Just for that, Howl immediately disliked the badly dressed fellow.  
  
Okay, perhaps he was just a tad bit shallow.  
  
“I am Albus Dumbledore,” the man introduced himself when it became apparent that Howl was too busy gawking at him to respond. His eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement as Howl tried to collect himself. “Do you mind if I sit down?”  
  
Howl, who had lost any desire to be polite to these people three hours and fifty eight minutes ago, shrugged. “It’s not my room, feel free to sit wherever you wish.”  
  
“Thank you.” Dumbledore sat down at the only desk in the room, turning the chair so that he as facing Howl.  
  
Howl didn’t respond, he simply stared gloomily at the old man. He hadn’t quite fallen into a sulk just quite yet, but he was getting there. The fact that there was finally someone around that would notice his tantrum was helping a bit. The old man let him sit in sullen silence for a minute or so before speaking again.  
  
“May I ask for your name?’ he inquired, something very close to mirth coloring his voice.  
  
“Howell Pendragon.” Since he had already used that name before, using it again wouldn’t hurt. Hopefully.  
  
“Any relation to Arthur Pendragon?” Dumbledore asked, curiously.  
  
“No.” Howl replied in a voice so heartbroken that it would have sparked sympathy even in Sophie’s heart. Okay, maybe a very small spark, but a spark nonetheless.  
  
Dumbledore, however, did not seem particularly moved by Howl’s plight. “I myself often wish I was related to Augustus Dumbledore, inventor of Firewhisky, but alas, one cannot choose their ancestors.”  
  
The general oddness of that sentence pulled Howl momentarily out of his frump to stare questioningly at the old man. Was he possibly insane?  
  
“Now that I have your attention,” The old man smiled pleasantly again. Howl was reminded of the way Mrs. Pentstemmon would smile just before she made him physically clean all the tools in her workshop for telling a little white lie. “Would you care to tell me why you were in Gringotts this morning?”  
  
Howl’s sulk deepened. “I just wanted to exchange my money.” He grumbled, knowing that the man would not believe him. It wasn’t like anyone else had yet. Oh the injustice of it all.  
  
To his surprise though, Dumbledore merely nodded once and asked another question. “I see. You just arrived in London today I presume?”  
  
Howl sighed and answered the unasked question. “Yes, my family lives in Wales.” Well, Megan did, and she was family not matter how many times she yelled at him about little things.  
  
“What business do you have here?” Dumbledore not at all perturbed by how Howl was behaving. Which was rather other odd, considering that most people by now would be either worried about him, or thoroughly annoyed with him.    
  
“I just wanted to see the town,” Howl made little effort to keep the whine out of his voice. He had good reason to whine, his entire Day of Independence had been ruined after all. “And relax a little, before returning to my loving wife and dear son.”  
  
“You will be able to return to them soon,” the old man reassured Howl. “Once we have determined that you are not involved with today’s events, or endangered by them.”  
  
“I already said I didn’t help them.” Then the rest of what the old wizard had said was processed. “What do you mean by ‘endangered’?”  
  
Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. “By staying behind, and calling attention to yourself with that display of magic, your face has no doubt been noted by some of the Death Eaters. You may now very well be a target of theirs.”  
  
For the first time in his life, Howl wished that he didn’t have such a handsome and remarkable appearance. He didn’t bother to ask the old man how he knew Howl was now being targeted. No doubt the information came from the same source that told him that Howl was just an innocent bystander. Up until those masked freaks decided to go after him because of his own foolhardy.  
      
“Speaking of magic, would you like to explain how you managed to blow back magical fire without a wand?  
  
He was a foolish wizard indeed. Though he was, at least, one with great fashion sense.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3: Mission Endangered    
  
If there was one thing that Howl hated, it was repeating himself. It irked him soundly to have to say the same thing twice. Because, not only did it waste time, but it meant that he was not being listened to, which was the same as being ignored., which was right on par with being overlooked.   
  
Howl Pendragon was not at all fond of being overlooked.   
  
Though in this specific situation, his reiteration had more to due with the fact that no one believed what he was saying. This was equally irksome, though on a completely different level.  
  
“I don’t know. Like I told you before, I just panicked.” He recited for what had to be the tenth time that day. At _least_.   
  
Dumbledore _hmmed_ at him. “That was a rather high level spell you preformed, Mr. Pendragon. Very energy consuming. And yet, you do not seem in the least bit affected by it.”  
  
Bugger. Knocking the fire back at the evil mask wizards had been nothing, just a minor wind spell that didn‘t require much thought. Nothing particularly draining. Unfortunately, it seemed these people were not like him. Yet another difference between their magic’s, and another reason why his was clearly superior.   
  
“I’m keeping up a brave front.” Howl raised his chin slightly and pasted a noble look on his face. “I’m terribly exhausted, and famished as well, on the inside.”   
  
The old man had the gall to look unconvinced.” I highly doubt that is the case.”  
  
“Well, I highly doubt you know what you’re talking about.” Howl shot back rather childishly, he had to admit. But honesty, how long did the man plan to interrogate him until he finally accepted that he was telling the truth? Well, more or less telling the truth.   
  
Strangely enough, the old man wasn’t at all annoyed by his retort. In fact, Howl could swear that his eyes actually twinkled. Twinkled, as in glimmered, as in shimmered with a spark of magic that had to have been used for that purpose. It seemed a like a waste of magic to Howl. He himself hadn’t used magic to enhance his already exquisite eyes since he was a particularly a child and even then, he had only used it to charm whoever had caught his interest that week.   
  
Right. Howl decided two things then and there. The first was that Albus Dumbledore was one very strange old man. The second was that he really quite bored with this whole interrogation nonsense. They didn’t believe him. Fine. Howl didn’t care, he was going to leave the second he got a minute alone. No more sulking and wallowing for him, no sir. Bother these wizard and their backwards rules of magic. He was going to go back to London and return to this world on a much, much later date. Preferably, once he was sure he could walk into a bank without fear of being attacked, kidnapped, and interrogated.    
  
“Will you kindly tell me when I can leave?” Howl demanded, sitting straight up in his seat for the first time since the meeting began.   
  
He was rudely ignored.   
  
Dumbledore seemed to be staring directly at something behind Howl. Odd. Howl looked over his shoulder, but the only thing on the wall behind him (other then an extremely dirty window) was an old, rather ugly, fogged up mirror. What was so interesting about the mirror? It didn’t even seem to be able to reflect things properly, the faint images that Howl could see were blurry and dark. Yet the old man was staring intently at it as though he could actually see something in it.   
  
Howl turned back to Dumbledore to see him smiling.   
  
Curiosity overcame his annoyance at being ignored. “What’s that?”   
  
The old man seemed startled by the question for some reason, but he didn’t call Howl on it. Instead, he boorishly ignored that question as well and said, “I apologize for taking your wand, but you must understand our caution.”  
  
Howl stared blankly at him for a moment before recalling the pen that he had charmed to look like a broken wand. His hand immediately went to his pocket, which he was unsurprised to discover was empty. He was surprised, however, that they had managed to get it without him noticing or realizing. When _had_ they gotten it?  
  
Dumbledore had been watching his movements with an odd look on his face. “Did you really not think to search for your wand before this?”   
  
Howl responded with a sullen look. Despite that fact that he really didn’t need a wand, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by how slow the fact that he hadn’t even noticed its disappearance made him seem.    
  
“I see.” The odd look grew as the old man suddenly stood up.   
  
Howl blinked at him, embarrassment set aside for the moment. What was wrong with the old man and his unexplainable mood changes?  
  
“Where are you going?” he demanded before remembering that he wanted to be left alone. Dammint though, rudeness seemed to go hand and hand with magically ability here. Howl was proud to say that he had never been anywhere as rude as anyone he had met so far in this bloody world.    
  
It was just Howl’s luck that Dumbledore chose this question to not ignore. He paused, just a few feet from the door, and replied. “To lay Moody’s suspicions to rest and, ah, defuse some of the gossip that has been going about.”   
  
He was amused, Howl realized. The old man was _amused_. What the hell was so amusing? Howl was not fond of being mocked, particularly when he had no idea why. If he didn’t know why he was being scorned, then he couldn’t defend himself.   
  
He glared at the retreating back of the fashion challenged old wizard about to demand to know what was so funny about him when the aged wizard spoke again.   
  
“The more time I spend with you, Mr. Pendragon,” Dumbledore said, pausing at the door. Howl bristled at the pleased tone. “The less of a threat you appear to be.”  
  
The wizard smiled and left the room, leaving a gaping Howl in his wake.   
  
Not a threat? Him? He was the Wicked Wizard Howl! Tales of his wickedness were told all over Market Chipping! Mothers only had to mention his name to get their little brats to behave! And this senile old man was saying that _he was not a threat_?  
  
Actually, though, that was probably a good thing. The less these people had to fear about him, the laxer their security would get, and the quicker he’d be able to slip away and return home. But that still did not give them the right to imply that he was weak. Coward was fine, wicked was preferred, astounding would almost make him forgive everything up until now. But there was really no ground for the old man to call him weak. None at all.  
  
“I resent that.” He complained to the shut door.   
  
The door didn’t answer.   
  
Howl took a moment to fume at the injustice pf the implication that he was weak, when he was really anything but, before turning his full attention to his current situation.  
  
It seemed that while Dumbledore didn’t see him as threat, though he really should have, the old man wasn’t entirely convinced that Howl was as innocent as he claimed. Howl knew this because he was still locked in the old dusty room instead of racing home for lunch.    
  
As earlier resolved though, Howl didn’t spend any moments on brooding. He’d sulked enough for the day, he reasoned, and besides, there was really just no point to sulking when there wasn’t anyone around to notice and attempt to console him. Howl decided to speed everything up a little and just free himself, instead of waiting for the old man to come back. These wizards might let him go eventually but he figured he’d save everyone some time and just show himself out.   
  
Ten minutes later, he was still in the dingy old room, glaring at the window. It seemed that his captors had wards set up. _Wards_. The nerve of them, holding him prisoner in a warded building. He couldn’t leave if the bloody place was warded! Which was probably the reason for setting wards up in the first place, but why could they not have been even a little lax in that particular area of security?   
  
Howl had tried to open the windows, poke a hole in the ceiling, heck, he’d even tried to pry up some of the floorboards. But all attempts had resulted in complete and utter failure. He couldn’t break, bend, dissolve, or go around whatever spells these wizards had put on them. That on its own was the most annoying fact of all.   
  
There was nothing faulty with his spells, he knew because he had been able to convert his threadbare pillows into much softer, fluffier alternatives. Howl could feel his magic reach out to the window and he could feel the resistance the foreign magic encasing it offered. It seemed that his magic refused to interact with their magic.  
  
This was in no ways fair.    
  
Howl collapsed onto his much more comfortable than before bed with a scowl on his face. His stomach grumbled. He frowned at it. Broth and biscuits, while very tasty, were very filling. His stomach gave another feeble growl.   
  
He was going to starve in here. His captors would open the door a week later, and all they would find would be a pile of nice clothes and bones. That’s all that would be left of the Great Howl. Sophie would never know what happened to him. Morgan would grow up and dedicate his life to gaining vengeance for the wrong done to his father. The villagers at Market Chipping would petition to get his birthday declared to be a National Holiday. The king, broken with grief at losing his most valued magician would agree and—  
  
A knock broke into his fantasy and the sound of the door opening pulled him to his feet. Melodramatic thoughts pushed aside for the moment, Howl glared half-heartedly at the person in the doorway, the tired looking brunette from before. There was no point, Howl thought sitting down again, to knocking if one was going to just open the door before the individual on the other side had a chance to answer. Further proof that there people were utterly and completely manner less.   
  
The brunette did not seem at all fazed by the glare directed at him. “It’s Howell, isn’t it?” he asked pleasantly. “Lunch is ready if you’re hungry.”  
  
Howl stared at him. “I thought I was a prisoner.”  
  
The brunette frowned. “Pardon?”  
  
“Why are you inviting me to lunch  when you’re holding me prisoner?” These people made absolutely no sense. One minute they were accusing him of an act that he hadn’t committed and the next minute they were inviting him to lunch. There was clearly something wrong with British wizards.   
  
“You aren’t being kept prisoner.” The brunette said, with a slight frown. “Didn’t Dumbledore tell you that?”   
  
“Then why was the door locked?” Howl demanded, crossing his arms.   
  
It was the brunette’s turn to stare at him. “The door wasn’t locked.”  
  
It was then that Howl realized that he hadn’t bothered to try the door. In his defense, he’d never thought that Dumbledore would actually leave without locking it. Hell, any sane person would assume that after all the trouble these people had gone through to accuse him of a crime that they would actually stick by that accusation for some period of time.   
  
“Well, are you hungry?“ The possibly not-sane brunette asked again. “I can come back later if you want.”   
  
Howl considered his options. Food or pride? Pride or food?  
  
His stomach growled once more, louder than before. The brunette raised an eyebrow at him. Howl gave in. If he couldn’t have his pride with these people, then at least he could have some f their food.   
  
“Alright.” He got up and followed Lupin out the door, determinedly ignoring the barely hidden amusement on the man’s face.   
  
“I think I’m starting to see what the Headmaster meant,” Lupin remarked lightly as he passed.   
  
Howl opened his mouth to ask what that meant, recalled the old man’s parting words, and decided, for the sake of whatever pride he had left, that he really didn’t want to know.    
  
The first thing he noted when he stepped outside was that there was a chair standing forlornly by the wall next to the door to his room. Apparently, even though he was no longer a prisoner, he was being kept under guard. Howl didn’t really mind. Shaking off a guard was much easier than trying to escape a magically sealed room.   
  
He turned away from the chair and scanned the hallway. He hadn’t paid much attention when he had been first shown to the rooms. He had been more focused on trying to figure out how to get out of this unruly predicament. But now, he took it all in.  
  
Creepy, ugly, and grimy. In short, the place was eerily similar to the lairs of the evil bad guys in the games Neil loved.    
  
The hallway was long and, there was really no other word for it, shadowy. Empty picture frames lined the dark drown walls, along with the occasional cobweb. Perhaps it was the lack of windows that gave the place a decidedly grim feel, but Howl couldn’t help but feel that no amount of windows would make the hall appear inviting. There was also a few what looked like to be shrunken heads, scattered here and there, but he could be wrong because he was not looking. Very carefully, _not looking_.   
  
The two of them walked in silence down the unsightly corridor, and down a slight of very creaky and unkempt stairs.   
  
Howl took the chance to study his guard. There was something off about the man. Howl hadn’t noticed in the earlier confrontation that day, it had been hard to focus on anything other than the dozen wands pointed his way, but now, after being in such close proximity to the man, he felt it. Lupin alluded a sense of danger that Howl had not gotten from the others. Well, from anyone aside from Scar Face. But Scar Face was more of a crazy-danger. Lupin on the other hand was more…feral-danger. Either way, both were two people he would definitely have to take particular care not to upset.   
  
Actually, now that he thought about it, the old man had a dangerous vibe to him as well. Kind of like the vibe Madam Suilman had. Howl scowled. Damn it. Escaping might be a tad bit more harder than previously thought.   
  
“Why are we eating eggs for lunch?” a slightly familiar, feminine voice grumbled as they neared a door which Howl guessed lead to the kitchen.  
  
“Because that’s all I know how to cook, okay,” An unfamiliar voice snapped.   
  
“I don’t like eggs.” The first voice complained. “Why don’t you know how to cook something good? Like muffins. You can’t go wrong with muffins.”  
  
“Here’s an idea. How about _you_ slave over the stove for three hours and _I’ll_ sit here and complain. What do you think of that?”  
  
“I think that if we want this house to remain standing at the end of today then Tonks should stay well away from the stove.” Lupin said stepping into the kitchen ahead of Howl with a slight smile on his face. “No offense meant, Tonks”  
  
The pink haired lady from before grinned at them from the table that was placed in the center of the room. Like the rest of the house, or rather, like the parts of the house that Howl had thus far seen, the room was dark and gloomy. There was only one other person in the room, an unfamiliar red haired man about Tonks’ age.   
  
“None taken.” Tonks said cheerfully. She turned to the red haired man as he placed a large platter of badly cooked eggs on the table. “It took you three hours to cook eggs?”  
  
“Shut it.”  
  
Lupin took a seat next to Tonks and Howl sat down next to the red head.   
  
“Charlie Weasley.” The red head introduced himself, holding out a hand, once Howl was settled. “You’re the Gringotts guy right?”  
  
Gringotts guy? How imaginative. “Howell Pendragon.” Howl said, shaking the offered hand. To his surprise, Weasley’s hand was rough and heavily calloused. A quick look revealed that his hands, and arms, were mutilated as well.  
  
“Wother Pendragon,“ The pink haired lady said with a smile. “Call me Tonks.”   
  
“Or you could call her Nymphdora,” Weasley put in, with a smirk. “If you want to.”  
  
“Call me that one more time, Weasley,” Tonks threatened with a glare. “And I swear I’ll take a page out of your sister’s book.”  
  
 Weasley merely grinned at her, unperturbed.  
  
“I’ll go see what’s keeping the others. Mr. Pendragon, please feel free to eat whatever you want.” Lupin said abruptly, standing up. He was out the door before anyone at the table had a chance to reply.   
  
Howl frowned in the direction that the man had left. That had been decidedly odd. Lupin had given off the impression that he would be following Howl everywhere, possibly even to the loo. And now, all of a sudden, he couldn’t wait to leave the room. He turned to his two remaining not-captors to see their reactions.   
  
Weasley was staring at the door Lupin had exited, looking as perplexed as Howl felt. Tonks on the other had was staring at her plate, looking decidedly dejected. If Howl didn’t know better, he’d have said that she looked decidedly like a maiden who had just been rejected. He turned back to Weasley to see that he was staring at Tonks as well.  
  
“What was that about?” he asked, gesturing towards the door.  
  
Tonks shrugged but didn’t answer.   
  
Weasley eyed her warily, but didn’t comment. Instead he picked up the newspaper that was lying next to his plate and unfolded it, clearly intending to read rather than eat.   
  
“Nothing about the attack on Gringotts,” he said, airily. “Wonder how they’re planning on explaining that.”  
  
Tonks just dumped some eggs onto her plate and didn’t answer.  
  
Howl’s stomach grumbled, reminding him that it was still empty. He followed Tonks’s example and helped himself to some eggs, making sure to take the least burnt ones. He was just about to take a bite when Weasley made an odd choking noise next to him.  
  
“Bloody Merlin!”  
  
“What is it?” Tonks asked absently. She wrinkled her nose at her eggs as she cut them into increasingly smaller pieces.   
  
The red haired man stared incredulously at the paper. “The Prophet’s actually cleared Black’s name!”  
  
“What?” Tonks demanded, snatching the newspaper right out of Weasley’s hands.  
  
Howl looked up, interested, but not before he stuffed a bite of eggs into his mouth. Yes, he was curious about the exclamation but he was hungry too. There was little sense in starving while he gathered more data about this world.   
  
“I was still reading that.” Weasley protested, though not very strongly.   
  
Tonks ignored him, her eyes darting left and right as she read the article.   
  
“I can’t believe they actually did that.” Weasley  muttered, absently running a hand through his hair.   
  
“What’s happened?” Howl asked, utterly lost.  
  
“Dammit!”  
  
Both Howl and Weasley jumped as the newspaper was abruptly slammed onto the table. Howl eyed the witch warily, but she didn’t seem to be mad at him. It was the paper that was bearing the full flare of her glare. Honestly, he was surprised it hadn’t spontaneously combusted yet.    
  
“They couldn’t have done this last year?” Tonks demanded of the table at large. She was too upset by whatever she had read to notice that she had knocked over a glass of water when she had slammed the newspaper down and that water was slowly seeping into it.   
  
Weasley snorted. “I’m still trying to get over the fact that they did it on this side of the millennium.”   
  
Howl discreetly leaned closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the article before the water mixed with the ink and turned into a big, soggy, incomprehensible mess. He made out a headline that consisted of what had probably been an ‘S’ followed by some blurs, ‘us’ and “Bl”, more smears, “k”, followed by a few more words which had smeared beyond recognition.   
  
S. Black? The name sounded vaguely familiar. A frown tugged at his lips as he took a sip of the water, searching through his mind for any information about an S-something-us Black. Where had he heard that name before? In Wales? His two not-captors were of no help. They were too busy arguing about Black and the paper, and someone called Harry. Dammit, where had he heard that name before?  
  
Howl took another sip and promptly choked, spitting up water all over the front of his shirt.   
  
Black. Sirius Black. The mass murder. The one whose face had been plastered just about everywhere a few years back. The one who murdered thirteen people. The one whose black and white photo Megan had pointed at, in the midst of one of her Moods, and demanded to know if he planned to end up like him. He didn’t by the way; the escapee’s hair was an absolute horror.    
  
“Oi, you okay?” Weasley abandoning the argument to pound on Howl’s back in a misguided attempt to aid with his breathing.   
      
Howl didn’t bother with an answer. He was too busy trying to breathe and keep up with the connections his mind was making.   
  
Such as the fact that Black was a wizard. No wonder he was never caught by the common police. Sirius Black, the mass murderer, was part of these fashion-challenged, manner less wizards.  
  
“Maybe we should call someone,” Tonk’s worried voice said, a lot closer than before.   
  
Howl managed to shake his head a negative and take a deep shuddering breath, which caught in his throat as he finally realized what he should have thought of immediately.  
  
These people knew Black. And they spoke his name without any fear or malice. And, they acted as though Black was part of their group…Oh _hell_.   
  
Just his luck. Howl was currently in the custody of the bad guys.   
  
He wondered when would be a good time to start begging for his life.   
  
CURTAIN CHAPTER THREE  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, poor mixed up Howl. XD Sorry, but your troubles are only beginning. Hehehe… ^o^
> 
> Note1: About the Daily Prophet possibly having water repellant spells on them- it just seems like a waste of magic to me, so in this fic, they don’t. Plus, the mental image of Howl trying to read a soggy piece of paper amuses me. ^_^


End file.
